


Vemod

by humanveil



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Angst, Canon Rewrite, Canon Typical Themes, F/M, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Post-Episode: s12e24 Smoked, Slow Build, WIP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2017-03-28
Packaged: 2018-08-23 13:54:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8330347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/humanveil/pseuds/humanveil
Summary: Vemod: (n.) Swedish. A tender sadness or pensive melancholy; the calm feeling that something emotionally significant is over and will never be back.Their relationship could be categorised into two eras: before Jenna, and after Jenna.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is an idea I’ve had for a _long_ time, and also something that’s very dear to my heart. It’ll follow Elliot and Olivia post-s12, with their relationship eventually turning romantic/sexual, but that’s a long way away. While there is no sexual infidelity, the beginning will contain some background Kathy/Elliot, but like the show, it’s strained. 
> 
> I also want to note that future chapters will deal with some heavy mental health issues (PTSD, psychosis, suicidal ideation etc.), and suggest that you proceed with caution if these topics trigger you. Things do get happier, but it takes a while to get there.
> 
> As a precaution: Vemod is uploaded as it is written. Personally, I suggest waiting until it’s marked as complete, because my updating pattern for WIPs is disastrous. That said, I do plan on finishing this, however long it takes me. 
> 
> Okay! I hope you enjoy my fic!

**MAY 17.**

Once the blood is cleared and the bodies removed, Olivia finds Elliot on the roof.

He’s standing just short of the edge, clothes ruffling in the wind, eyes trained on the darkening skyline before him. In the dark, Olivia can only just make out his silhouette, his frame tense and rigid; anxious, almost. As she steps closer, she can see his hands shaking, his fingers curled into fists, the act a futile effort to stop the tremor.

Elliot doesn’t look at her as she settles next to him, his gaze fixed on the city below them, but Olivia doesn’t mind. She simply stands there, silent, and waits. For what, she’s not entirely sure.

Time passes slowly, minutes seeming to drag on like hours, but still, Olivia doesn’t push. They’re no longer needed downstairs, have already been told to go home, to take a day, recuperate while they wait for IAB to come down over their heads. She has nowhere else to be but here, nothing better to do than wait and see if her partner’s okay.

By the time Elliot does speak, the sky is an endless strip of black, the distant city lights sparkling like stars. His voice is quiet, soft, broken, the words so gentle they almost get lost in the bustle of the street below them. “I…” he starts, stops, his voice trailing off to nothing. He takes a breath, as if to steady himself, and tries again. “I didn’t mean to kill her.”

He turns to Olivia as he says it, his eyes wide, still shining with the shock of it. There are tears, Olivia notes, the dampness shimmering under what little light falls across the roof. The look on his face, the words—they break her heart, cause a lump to form in her throat.

“I know,” she says, and she wants to reach out, to help him, but she doesn’t know how. Doesn’t think there’s anything she can say or do right now that’ll make this easier.

Elliot shakes his head at her words, looks back down to the street. “I didn’t mean—” he tries again, his voice breathy this time. Desperate. “I didn’t—”

“Elliot,” Olivia says, her hand reaching to curl around his wrist, pull his attention back to her. Only once he’s made eye contact does she continue. “I know you didn’t,” she repeats, thumb smoothing over the fabric of his coat. “You don’t have to explain it to me, El. I know.”

The last part is whispered, as if speaking too loudly will break something, will break them. Elliot doesn’t respond, just breathes slowly, his face blank as he looks down once more. Olivia watches, worried. She’s never sure how to act when he’s like this, has difficulty reading him as well as she usually does.

Silence falls over them, Elliot apparently done with the conversation. Olivia half expects to stand there all night, is prepared to wait hours for Elliot to snap out of whatever trance he’s in. As it is, she only has to wait a few minutes.

Elliot turns back to her after a moment, his mouth upturned in the smallest of smiles. “You need a lift home?”

Olivia knows the smile is fake, knows Elliot is trying his hardest to pretend things are fine. She also knows better than to say that, though, so she doesn’t. Instead, she smiles back, accepts the offer despite her own car being parked in the lot.

She knows Elliot well enough by now to know his offer is an indirect request, that he wouldn’t ask if he didn’t need her there with him.

-

The car ride is unusually quiet, the drive void of their usual post-work chatter. There are no jokes, no stops to eat, no offers for a drink. There is only silence, the quiet more strained than it usually was; heavy with the day’s events.

Olivia watches Elliot from the corner of her eye as the city passes in a blur, a fleeting sense of relief blooming in her chest when she sees his hands on the wheel, the tremor gone. She doesn’t try to talk, knows Elliot would initiate it if he wanted to. Now, she thinks he needs the silence, the non-judgemental company of his partner, and Olivia is more than happy to give it to him.

They reach her building far too quickly, the car slowing right outside her door. Olivia unbuckles her belt slowly, makes no move to leave right away. Rather, she turns to Elliot, finds him staring at her, like he’s waiting for something, like he wants to say something but doesn’t have the words to. Olivia smiles softly, the feeling mirrored in herself.

“Blink your lights,” Elliot says eventually, and Olivia almost wants to laugh.

She glances from him to her building, the urge to reach out, to _do something,_ nagging at her for the second time that night. Usually, she’d bury it. Touching each other has always been risky territory, the fear of crossing unspoken lines enough to make it a rare occasion, but tonight… Tonight feels different, feels like it’s something she needs to do.

Giving her building one last glance, Olivia leans across the car’s console and catches Elliot in a hug. It’s uncomfortable, the positioning for it all wrong, but Elliot clings to her, anyway, breathes her in, holds her tight. He buries his face against her shoulder, his breath ghosting across her neck. Olivia can feel it, it’s ragged, unstable nature. Closing her eyes, she leans into him, curls a hand in the fabric of his coat, the act comforting her as much as it does him.

The embrace lasts longer than she expects it to, than it probably should, but neither of them want to pull away, as if letting go will be the end of something. It’s inexplicable, Olivia thinks, but a sense of finality hangs in the air around them, as if nothing will be the same once she leaves the car.

“You gotta get home,” Olivia whispers eventually, and Elliot nods, slowly eases away from her. As they part, Olivia lets her lips brush his cheek in an almost-kiss, a soft  _if you want to talk…_ leaving her mouth. The sentence remains unfinished, but it doesn’t matter. She knows Elliot understands what she’s trying to say.

Her response is a sad smile, the one expression conveying more than words ever could. Olivia nods, has to take a deep breath before opening the door and walking inside, her chest aching as she takes the steps up to her apartment.

One inside, she blinks the lights, drops her bag on the counter, and walks over to the window. She catches sight of Elliot’s car, can almost make out his frame through the windshield. Lifting her hand in a slight wave, she listens to the engine rev, watches as Elliot sits there for another moment before finally reversing out and disappearing into the night.   


	2. Chapter 2

It takes Elliot longer than usual to get home, and even longer to walk through the front door.

He sits in the driver’s seat, staring ahead; gaze focused on the light that comes through the main window until his vision blurs and all he can make out is odd dots of colour.

He feels guilty already. Feels the weight of the emotion crushing down on him; feels like he’ll walk through the door and have his family look at him like he’s a murderer, like he’s no better than the people he’d spent his life trying to put away.

It’s stupid, he knows it is. He wouldn’t think anything like that if someone else were in his situation, but still. The feeling’s hard to shake.

With a resigned sigh, he gets out of the car. He can’t sit there forever, despite how much a part of him wants to. The door slams harder than necessary when he shuts it, but he hardly notices, just continues to the front porch.

It’s late, but not late enough for his family to be asleep. Kathy greets him with a smile that vanishes almost immediately; her eyes filling with worry once she takes in just how tired he looks, how tense.

“What happened?” she asks, voice quiet as she moves from the doorway to let him in. He walks past her, shaking his head, not wanting to talk about it, and she sighs. “Elliot.”

“I’m fine,” he says, because he doesn’t want to get into it now, because he’s scared of what could happen if he does. He just… wants to stop thinking.

“Is everyone alright?”

He wants to snort; wants to ask how anyone could be alright after _that._ He doesn’t, just nods. “Yeah,” he answers, and he knows that she knows he’s lying, but he doesn’t care. He’ll tell the truth later.

She looks like she’s going to say something, but lets it go and shuts the front door instead.

He walks away, into the main room where his youngest sit, Eli lying across Elizabeth’s lap, asleep. Lizzie flashes him a smile, and Elliot tries to not think about how she’s only a little older than Jenna.

*

“You seem upset,” Lizzie says, when he takes a seat.

“I’m fine,” is the automatic response. “Where’s your brother?”

She shrugs, head tilting as she looks at him. “Out. Did something happen?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

“Elizabeth—” he starts, but she cuts him off.

“I get it, you don’t want to talk,” she says. “I wouldn’t know want to say, anyway. I just… you gonna be okay?”

His lips twitch at the words. “Eventually.”

“And Olivia?”

“Yeah.”

Elizabeth nods, “Good.”

*

Later, when he’s showered and changed and laid down in bed, he stares at the ceiling and thinks of how he’s going to tell them. He almost wishes someone else could, just so he doesn’t have to say the words.

He tries to forget about it, tries to sleep, but flashes of blood and panicked yelling and surprised, tearful eyes play behind his eyelids every time they shut, and he’s left staring at the ceiling, breath coming too quickly as his wife sleeps beside him.

Silently, he thinks he should get used to this.

**

Across the city, Olivia doesn’t sleep. Can’t sleep.

Her mind races a mile a minute; worries of what could happen filling her head. She knows it was a good shot, but she’s scared not everyone will agree. Scared of what it could mean for Elliot if they don’t.

Scared of what it could mean for their partnership, if they don’t.

For what feels like the millionth time, she sighs and sits up in bed, hand moving around the sheets until they find her phone. She clicks it, reads the _03:42 AM_ that glows up at her, and sighs again.

She’d thought about calling before, to see if he made it home okay, but had decided against it. She knows Elliot needs time to work through things at his own pace, in his own ways, but… She flicks the phone open, and finds their message thread, fingers hesitating over the keyboard before she finally writes out a question.

[03:47 AM]  
You okay?

The reply comes almost instantly, which is an answer in itself.

 _[03:49 PM]_  
_Can’t sleep._  
_[03:49 PM]_  
_You?_

[03:50 AM]  
The same.

_[03:53 AM]  
You gonna take a day?_

[03:55 AM]  
Probably.  
[03:55 AM]  
You?

 _[03:56 AM]_  
_Have to._  
_[03:58 AM]_  
_I think I need it anyway._

[03:59 AM]  
I’m sorry.

_[04:00 AM]  
Yeah me too._

She stares at the words, types two replies and deletes them both. It wasn’t the first time this had happened – to either of them – but this time feels different; feels like it’ll be harder to come back from.

 _[04:05 AM]_  
_Try and sleep._  
_[04:05 AM]_  
_One of us should._

She smiles as the text comes through. She really should try and get a few hours; they’ll likely call her in for questioning tomorrow, and she’d rather be at least a little refreshed.

[04:007 AM]  
Call me tomorrow?

 _[04:08 AM]_  
_Yeah._  
_[04:08 AM]_  
_Night, Liv._

She reads the message more than once, wishing there was something she could say to make it better, and shuts the phone, turning to her side and attempting sleep for the third time.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *rocks up five months late with starbucks* someone order an update?

“What are you going to do?” is what Kathy says when Elliot tells her what happened the next morning.

“I don’t know,” is the automatic response. And he really doesn’t. He hadn’t been able to think about it too much without making himself feel sick. “It’s up to IAB.”

Kathy stares at him from where she leans against the kitchen counter, cup of coffee held in her hands. “Do you think they’ll take your badge?”

It’s a loaded question, he knows. It’s not just his badge; it’s his income, his pension. It’s everything he’s spent his whole life working for. “It’s up to them,” he says again, fingers rubbing against his forehead.

It had plagued his mind all night. He’d tossed and turned, unable to sleep, while considering his options. It was a good shot that went bad. He should be fine, but with his history… he can’t be certain.

If he’s honest, he’s not even sure if he should go back.

*

Later, he gets a call from Cragen asking him to go down to IAB. _Better not to drag it out_ , he’d said, and Elliot had agreed.

He drives with clammy palms, nerves bouncing around in his gut, and gets there as Olivia’s walking out of the interrogation room. Her face shows obvious signs of irritation, but she forces her mouth into a small smile when she sees him.

“Hey.”

He repeats the greeting, looks past her to where Tucker sits, two other detectives on either side of him. “How was it?”

She huffs, turning to glance back at the room before returning her gaze to him. “Same as always.”

Not good, then. “What’d they say?”

The irritation returns to her face, frown lines forming around her mouth. “They pretty much asked the same question ten differ—”

“Detective Stabler,” a familiar voice cuts through her response, and they both turn to where it came from. “Care to join us?”

Elliot takes a deep breath, nodding at Tucker before sparing Olivia a glance.

“Good luck,” she murmurs. “Want me to wait?”

“You don’t have to,” he tells her, before following Tucker into the room.

The door shuts behind them, and Elliot moves to take a seat; sweaty palms sliding over the fabric of his pants. He’s still nervous. Still upset.

He knows it’s not going to end well.

Tucker clears his throat as he sits down, adjusting his suit so he’s comfortable. He reaches for the camera set up, turning it on with a flick of his finger. “State your name for the record,” he starts, expectant look on his face.

Elliot does, and then he’s bombarded a myriad of questions he’d rather not answer. _How many shots? How many kills? How many complaints?_

He doesn’t bother keeping the dislike from his face as he answers them; doesn’t bother pretending that he doesn’t hate this. That he doesn’t hate Tucker, hate the smug look on the bastard’s face when he’s forced to admit his mistakes.

It seems to drag on forever. They ask every question they possibly could, and by the end of it Elliot is drained. Exhausted. He just wants to get away; to crawl into a hole somewhere where he won’t be bothered. Where he can sleep without nightmares.

Tucker stops the recording, arms folding over his chest as he leans back in his chair. “If I were you,” he tells Elliot. “I’d start making other plans.”

Elliot glares, hands curling into fists where they rest. He wants to argue, wants to tell him where to go.

Instead, he stands without a word and walks from the room.

*

Olivia is waiting for him outside, face showing genuine concern that makes some of the anger leave Elliot’s body. Like her mere presence is a comfort.

“Not good?” she asks, and Elliot shakes his head.

“You know what they’re like,” he says, stopping in front of her. “You busy?”

“Nah.”

“Wanna get something to eat?”

Olivia smiles. “Lead the way.”

*

They go to one of their usual joints, where they’re recognised by the waitress and have a table at the back. They both order light, and Olivia watches, concerned, when all Elliot does is pick at his food.

There’s an unspoken agreement not to talk about it, though, so they don’t. They chat like it’s any other day, and if they tried hard enough, they could almost pretend that it was.

*

“You’ll call?” is what Olivia asks when he drops her off, hand holding the car door open as she bends down slightly, head tilted to the side as she looks at Elliot.

His voice is low when he replies, his head bobbing gently. “Yeah.”

Olivia nods back, murmuring a goodbye before turning to enter her building.

Elliot drives home feeling the same way he had the night before, unidentifiable emotions pooling in his throat and making it hard to breathe. He ignores Kathy’s concerns when he walks through the door, and keeps to himself for the rest of the afternoon.

*

That night, he doesn’t sleep.

He spends hours fidgeting in bed before eventually leaving the room, quietly padding down the stairs and onto the lower floor. He makes his way to the kitchen, pours himself a drink and downs it, and then pours another before settling on the couch.

He cradles his glass with one hand, taking the occasional sip, and holds his phone with the other. It tells him it’s nearing three in the morning, and he isn’t surprised; just wants time to move faster, for it to be daylight, so he has more than alcohol and shitty TV to distract himself with.

Absentmindedly, he flips his phone open and navigates it to his call log. Olivia’s contact glows up at him, like an invitation, and he contemplates calling her despite the late hour.

He said he would.

He doesn’t.

 


End file.
